


Till the Stars Grow Old

by PracticallyIJ



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Angst, Aunt Joey returns, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PracticallyIJ/pseuds/PracticallyIJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where the first words that your soulmate will say to you are written on your body, you'd think it would be easy to find and keep them. Sal learns very early on that it isn't easy at all, meant to be or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till the Stars Grow Old

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! I have returned (finally) with another fic. I absolutely love Soulmate AUs, and of course these two guys were the perfect fit for one.  
> Rated mature for language and the smuttiest smut in town. Once again, these are only my fictional versions of the guys, created for the purposes of my writing :3

Sal had known who his soulmate was from the age of fifteen. He remembered every tiny detail with perfect clarity even now, well over two decades later. He remembered that it was his second week of freshman year, that the uniform he was wearing was still all stiff and new and too big on him, and that the classroom smelled dusty and chalky. He also remembered that all of that shit faded into the background the moment he saw the boy who walked into his math class just before the bell rang. With his dark hair and large, serious eyes, and his sweet round face, he looked so _endearing_ that Sal was totally unable to tear his eyes away as the boy walked across the room and took the seat right in front of him, then rooted through his backpack and sighed. He turned around suddenly and Sal looked away, blushing at being caught staring. Then he spoke, his mouth a self-deprecating half smile and his voice apologetic. “Hey bud, can I borrow a pencil? Kinda forgot my pencil case…”

Twenty years later, Sal still sharply felt all of the emotions that came to him in the seconds and minutes after that moment. He immediately felt a jolt in his head, like an electric shock, as he realised that he knew those words intimately, and had done since before he could even read them. They were etched onto his skin and engraved in his mind, a firm affirmation that out there somewhere was his One. And now here was his soulmate, speaking out loud the words that Sal had spent years pondering over. They resonated inside his head, reverberating and settling somewhere deep inside. He tried to control his voice as he replied, knowing that whatever he was about to say was written on the other guy’s body, in exactly the same place his own words were. “Yeah, I think I have a spare here somewhere.”

He looked in his bag and fetched one of his new pencils out, handing it to the boy, who smiled. “Thanks, man. Hey, what’s your name? I’m Brian, but, uh, I guess if I had friends here yet, they’d call me by my last name, Quinn.”

“S-Sal. Vulcano.” The elation and giddiness that Sal was so lucky to have found his match so soon in life was quickly turning to puzzlement. Why wasn’t Quinn reacting? He’d seen the way it happened between couples, knew how it was _supposed_ to happen. Both people always reacted instantly. He waited a second longer. Nothing. “Uhh, nice to meet you, Quinn.”

They might have carried on their conversation, but then their teacher called for attention, and his new friend simply shrugged and turned around, while Sal’s confusion became devastation. He felt sick - he’d heard of this happening, amongst other things. Sometimes it didn't work out - a person might only hear their soulmate’s words as one of them was about to die. Or they might miss each other completely, or be born with no words on them at all, and hence, no soulmate. And sometimes, like Sal, it was possible for someone to find their soulmate, only to find that their soulmate wasn't meant for them at all.

He spent the rest of that lesson waiting for it to end so that he could go and break down in the bathroom in peace.

******

As Sal grew up, and grew closer to Brian Quinn, he mostly got used to that echoing, empty feeling inside him. Sometimes he’d still wake up at night, his heart aching for no other reason than something just felt _broken_ inside him. Those were the nights where he thought he wouldn't be able to bear it any more, having his soulmate so close to him all the time and yet not being able to be truly _with_ him. They were the nights where he’d sit up and stare at the little sentence written on his upper thigh, wishing he could just sand it off or scratch it out, anything to get rid of that fucking hollow ache in his chest.

But mostly, he got used to it. Most days he was just thankful that Q was his best friend, and that he could have that much. This was one of those days. They had a couple of days downtime after a hugely successful string of tour dates around New York, and Sal had just arrived at Q’s place to record an episode of _What Say You?_.

He rang the bell, absentmindedly straightening his shirt and checking his hair, and after a moment Q opened the door, that expression that seemed only to be reserved for Sal fixed firmly on his face: all crinkly warm eyes and gentle fond smile. “Hey bud! Come in. I made coffee. D’you want somethin’ to eat?”

“Hey! Coffee sounds great. I ate already though.” Sal stepped inside, slipping his shoes off on the way. Q had already set up the recording equipment in the living room, and was now pouring coffee in the kitchen, so Sal joined him there. “So what’s on the agenda for today, buddy?”

“Uh, well, we got a couple things we said we’d talk about, and I think we promised more Nugget, right?” Q finished making the coffee, and handed one cup over.

Sal took a sip. “Oh my god, is there vanilla in this? You always know just how I like it.”

Q flashed him a smile. “Of course I do, Sally. You’re my best friend, it’s my job to pay attention to shit like that.”

“You’re amazing. Did I ever tell you I love you?”

“Only, like, five times a day, bud.” There was familiar teasing laughter in Q’s voice, and Sal wondered - not for the first time - how his best friend would react if he knew exactly what Sal meant every time he told him he loved him.

“Shut up, asshole.” Sal nudged Q’s shin with his toe. “Not my fault I’m an affectionate guy.”

Q smiled, placing a hand on Sal’s shoulder. “I know. And for the record, I love you too.” His reply was gentle and sincere, with none of the usual lightly mocking edge he often had to his voice. Sal’s stomach swooped, as it always did when he heard those words from his best friend, and he tried to cover the sudden surge of emotion by taking a big gulp of coffee. That backfired a moment later when he started choking. Q thumped his back a few times, then rubbed it gently. “You okay, buddy? Don’t die on me, we still got a podcast to record.”

Sal gave a thumbs up as he caught his breath, and cleared his throat, overly aware of the other man’s hand still resting on his back. “Yeah. God, sorry. Coffee went down the wrong way, I guess. Thanks man, I’m alright now.”

“Good. C’mon, let’s get recording. I told Declan we’d have this episode to him by tonight.” They headed into the living room and settled in for an hour or so of doing what they usually did in their everyday life, but for a few hundred thousand listeners instead.

******

“...And I guess that’s how I unintentionally hired a prostitute for the night.”

“Oh my god, dude! How does this shit even keep happening to you? We should never let you go near hotels.” Q wiped tears out of his eyes, still laughing. “And you just sat and talked to her the whole time?”

Sal shrugged, grinning. “Well, I didn’t wanna fuckin’ sleep with her. I was tired, man. So I just… kinda… vented to her for a while. She was a really good listener.”

Q stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter all over again. “Only you, Sal, would talk a sex worker’s ears off about your general grievances.”

“Alright, alright, laugh it up.”

“Well, it’s funny, bud. And, y’know, kinda endearing.” Q looked away, scratching his nose, and Sal wondered why he was uncomfortable. Maybe it was because he was saying affectionate shit while they were recording. He looked back at Sal suddenly, curiosity on his face. “Hey, did you see her words?”

Sal shook his head. “No, they musta been somewhere I couldn’t see.”

Q thought for a second. “Or maybe she didn’t have any at all. Nobody really talks about people without soulmates, but those poor bastards do exist.”

_Well, that fucking stings._ To be fair to Q, he had no idea that Sal was one of those poor bastards, but he couldn’t help feeling hurt and offended. Did Q _pity_ those like him? If he knew, would he act like everyone else did towards people who were all wrong and broken like him: with a mixture of distant sympathy and faint disgust - as though they could _catch_ the lack of a soulmate like a disease? He needed to get off this topic, because it was beginning to make him feel nauseous with anxiety. “Uhh, yeah. Maybe. Anyway, do - do you remember in the last episode how I said I’d read out those weird texts some wrong number was sendin’ me? I got them here.”

“Oh, okay, awesome! Go ahead then buddy, gets to readin’.” Q leaned forward attentively as Sal began reading out the texts, laughing in all the right places and adding comments here and there, but it didn’t escape Sal that his friend shot him a couple of concerned glances over the course of the rest of the episode. He hoped that the other man hadn’t made any kind of connection.

Eventually they wrapped up the recording, and Sal got up, stretching. “Fuck, that turned into a long one. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, buddy.” Q gave him that ‘why the fuck are you even asking?’ look, and disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to grab something to drink.

Sal headed to the bathroom. When he was done, he washed his hands, and then went back into the living room - only to stub his toe excruciatingly hard on the coffee table. “Holyfucking _shitballs_ assholegoddamntablemother _fffucker_!” He sat down heavily on the sofa, holding his foot. “Oh my _god_ , that fuckin’ hurt.”

“Huh? You okay, bud? What happened?” Q came into the living room, looking worried and strangely unsettled, a frown creasing his brow.

“I stubbed my goddamn toe! You gotta do something about this table, man.”

Q laughed, though he still looked slightly uneasy. “Maybe you should do somethin’ about your feet. What if you’d hurt my table?”

Sal couldn’t help laughing despite the pain. “Asshole.” He stood up and tested his weight on it gingerly. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“Are you sure? You were swearin’ even more than usual.” On the surface, Q seemed to have shaken off whatever had been bugging him, because he appeared to be fine now - a fond smile was gracing his lips, the type of smile that always made Sal’s mouth dry up and his heart race. But there was an odd, absent look in the man’s eyes that only Sal could have noticed, that gave him the feeling that something was still up - and even worse, he couldn't fathom what the fuck it could be.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. I’ll go home and put some ice on it though, just in case.” Sal got ready to leave and they hugged each other goodbye. As he drove away, he noticed the other man lingering uncertainly at the front door, watching him leave. _What’s going on in your head, Quinn?_

******

A few days passed, and Sal didn’t really hear anything from Q in that time. His friend would reply to texts in brief two or three word answers, but wouldn’t offer any conversation, which worried Sal. Had he done something wrong? What if he’d said or done something to make Q mad at him? What if he never wanted to talk to him again? The anxiety started eating away at him, until the morning they were due back at work came. They were in the park, shooting a paired challenge, and Sal and Joe were placed together.

While they were watching Murr and Q on their round, they had some downtime. Joe turned to Sal. “You seem tense today, buddy. Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sal knew he was a terrible liar, and that Joe somehow always knew when he wasn’t telling the truth, but he did it anyway, just on the off-chance that he might be believed.

Judging by the sceptical look Joe was giving him, he had no such luck today. “Sal, come on. I _know_ you.” He glanced at the crew, who were indicating they were ready to start filming again. “Listen, man. Let’s go for coffee after we finish shootin’, and you can tell me all about it then. Deal?”

Sal sighed, looking across at Q, who looked deep in conversation with Murray, and felt a twinge of jealousy. So he’d give Murr the time of day, but not Sal? Well, he reasoned, they’d been pretty close in high school. Maybe Sal was just lying to himself about how close he and Q really were. After all, if having Q as his soulmate was only one sided, maybe it was the same for having him as his best friend. “I dunno, Joey. I was just gonna head home…” he trailed off as he saw Murr say something earnestly to a frowning Q, hand on his shoulder, and felt that familiar ache start up inside him again. Tearing his eyes away, he turned to Joe, who was regarding him with a knowing look. “Actually, no. Let’s get coffee.” He didn’t want to be alone right away, alone with the tangled mess of his thoughts, and that fucking stupid _void_ in his chest.

******

“So what’s eatin’ ya, bud?” Joe asked as they settled into some squishy sofas by the window in the tiny little corner cafe.

Sal sipped at his coffee. _Not as nice as Q’s_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully. “I… I don’t know. Has Q seemed a little… distant the last few days? Has he, like, texted you at all?” He tried to sound casual, but it just ended up coming out kind of mumbled and off-key instead.

Joe stared at him over the rim of his coffee mug. “I knew it was about Quinn. Why? Did he find out?”

Sal had told Joe a long time ago that Q was his soulmate. The weight of keeping the pain of it to himself had become too much, and one day, not long after they’d left college, he’d broken down at Joe’s place and told him everything. The words on his thigh, the instant connection he’d felt with the dark haired boy, and the stunned desolation that hit him like a fucking _cartoon anvil_ when Q didn’t have any reaction, all of it came tumbling out amidst a flood of heartsick, angry tears, his throat raw and his head aching. Face buried in Joe’s shoulder, he’d sobbed “Why’d it hafta be me, Joey? I’d rather have no words, no soulmate at all than _this._ I love him so much but sometimes I can’t even stand to fuckin’ look at him!”

Joe had simply listened to Sal rant and cry for a while, rubbing his back and murmuring soothingly until he calmed down. Then, his voice tight with compassion and empathy, he’d said, “I know, buddy, it hurts, and it fuckin’ _sucks_ that this happened to you. God, I wish it could be different. But you gotta make peace with it, Sal, otherwise you’ll never be happy, and eventually you won't be able to be friends with him at all.”

Sal did make peace with it, for the most part. He and Q became close friends, barely ever apart. They supported each other through every single piece of shit life threw their way, and knew each other better than they knew themselves. And if, every once in a while, he drunkenly brought someone home that had Q’s eyes, or his smile, and fucked them just to pretend that he was whole, to try and dull the constant hollow ache in his chest, just for a _moment_ \- who had to know?

Sal was brought abruptly back to the present by Joe’s hand on his wrist, and looked up from his coffee. “Sorry, I was fuckin’ miles away. Uh, I don't know if he found out. We were just recording the podcast, and then he just got all weird for no reason, and he hasn't talked to me since. Do… D’you think I did something wrong?” Sal felt tears pricking at his eyes as he spoke, and willed himself not to start crying.

Joe’s eyes were sad and brimming with sympathy. He shook his head. “No, bud. I don’t think you did anythin’ wrong. Look. Talk me through what happened, what you guys said. Whatever’s goin’ on is in that conversation somewhere.”

“Uhh…I guess… I turned up, he made us coffee, I told him I love him and he said he loves me too…” Sal blushed, fully aware of Joe’s raised eyebrows. “ _not_ like that... not for him, anyway. Umm, where was I?”

“You confessed your love to each other over homemade coffee.” Joe deadpanned.

Sal felt his cheeks heat up even more. “Shut up! Fuck! Okay… we started recording, went through some business for a while, then, uh, then I told a really long story, you know, the one about the time I accidentally hired the prostitute?” Sal looked across at Joe, who indicated he should go on. “And then he started - he started goin’ on about her _words_ , where they were or whether she had any at all.” Having to recall that moment made Sal’s stomach hurt, and made the ache behind his eyes even more difficult to ignore. “He… he called people without a soulmate… people like _me_ …” he could barely get it out, _“poor bastards._ So... I changed the subject-”

Joe interrupted him. “Sal, first of all, you are not without a soulmate. Somethin’ just went wrong somehow, okay? Second, don’t get to thinkin’ that Q would think less of you because of that, because he wouldn’t. Alright?” Sal nodded, wondering if that second point was really true. “Carry on, buddy.”

“Well, we wrapped it up about half an hour after that - I was just readin’ texts out. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, that was when he got all weird. Then I… I guess I went home.”

“What happened when you came back from the bathroom?” Joe prompted gently.

Sal was beginning to feel like he was being interrogated. “God, I don’t know. I stubbed my toe and swore a shitload? Then he came outta the kitchen lookin’ all worried, you know how he does. Only... he didn’t just look worried, he looked kinda _freaked out._ And he didn't really stop lookin’ like that, not even when I left.”

Joe frowned, thinking. “God, I don’t know what to say here, Sal. You really didn’t do anythin’ wrong from what you’ve told me. I wish I could help you more than this, but my advice is to talk to Q and ask _him_ what’s up. Ya gotta communicate, buddy.”

Sal felt anxious thinking about it. After all, what if the answer wasn’t one that he wanted to hear? What if it turned out Q had realised who he was to Sal, and no longer wanted to be friends? He suddenly felt exhausted from holding his tears back, and he knew that if he stayed much longer he’d be fucking weeping in the middle of a coffee shop. “I… you’re right. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Look, it’s been a long day, Joey. I gotta go home and get some sleep.”

Joe nodded, understanding written plain as day in his expression. “Alright, pal, let’s go.” They gathered their things and headed for the exit. When they reached the parking lot, Joe wordlessly pulled Sal into a hug, rubbing his back gently. Sal wrapped his arms tight around his friend, screwing his eyes up against the tears that threatened, against the ache in his throat and his chest and the roaring in his head that endlessly screamed _this is it, this is the end, you’re losing him, it’s your own fault because you couldn’t be satisfied with his friendship_ -

He sighed shakily and pulled away, just barely holding it together. He wasn’t that kid any more, who cried all over his friends about every tiny thing that went wrong between him and Q. _Keep it together, you stupid fucking idiot._ When he spoke, his words came out broken and small, and he couldn’t look at Joe, for fear that the compassion he knew was in the guy’s face ended up breaking him apart. “I… thanks. For - for talkin’ to me about this. You didn’t need to. God... ya sure as fuck don’t need me cryin’ all over you all the time…”

“Bullshit.” Joe sounded frustrated and a little hurt. “You know that’s what I’m here for. When will you realise that you’re worth our time, Sal? _All_ of us.”

Sal didn’t answer. He had no good answer - he knew what Joe was trying to say, knew on some level that he was probably right, but he was too goddamn tired and beaten down to think about anything except his soulmate. So he simply said goodbye, thanking Joe again for being there for him, and drove home, feeling like he was battling a brewing storm the entire way.

It was only when he got home, kicked his shoes off and lay down on his bed face first that he finally allowed himself to break down. Lungs burning from the pain of keeping it in so long, he curled up, knees to chest, and wept - for his young, devastated self, from the pain of his unrequited feelings, in fear of the unknown future. He cried so hard he couldn’t breathe, so much that he thought it would never stop. But after what felt like hours, he finally finished crying, and just lay there, arms wrapped around himself, staring into the dark. _This_ was bearable. Now he was too exhausted to feel anything at all.

******

At some point during the night, Sal must have fallen asleep, because one moment he was lying on his bed staring at nothing, and the next... he was on a train. The train was moving, travelling somewhere, but Sal had no idea where to or where from, or anything at all. He felt so groggy and hazy, his eyes so heavy, that it was difficult to focus. Everything felt slower than it should. With an effort, he looked around, and saw that the carriage he was in was full of the people he knew, laughing and chatting away with their soulmates. Joey was there, a few seats ahead, making Bessy laugh with his stupid faces. Not far away from them sat Murr with a girl Sal had never seen. Murr looked more in love than he’d ever seen him before. Friends, parents of friends… they were all there, all so happy - Sal could see right through all of them to the golden, whole cores inside them, and he longed for it. He’d never been hungrier for anything in his entire life.

He was beginning to feel more alert now, and he looked beside him, to find that Q was sitting right there - Q as the boy he first fell for all those years ago, with those big, dark, sincere eyes and that self-deprecating air that made him so ridiculously _adorable_. Sal leaned forward and looked into the darkened window, to see a goofy looking kid version of himself staring back - that lost, lonely adolescent who, way too young, had had to bear the burden of knowing he’d probably be alone forever.

“H-hey. Quinn?” There was no response, so Sal reached out to touch Q on the arm, then withdrew his hand - it just passed straight through him. The other boy still did nothing - he just sat there, staring forwards, a neutral expression on his face. Sal waved a hand in front of Q’s face, then looked from him to the couples and back, feeling anger and hurt build up helplessly inside him. “Fuck! _It wasn’t fuckin’ supposed to be like this!_ ” he yelled, punching the seat in front of him. Even that loud display of emotion didn’t elicit any response - not from Q, nor from any of the other couples. Sal was truly invisible, and if there’d ever been a time where he’d felt more insignificant than this, nothing was coming to mind.

The train carried on, though it began to stop at a station every so often. Every time it did, one couple disembarked, still smiling and talking. Bit by bit, the carriage emptied entirely, until it was just him and his unresponsive soulmate left. Then the train slowed to a stop again at a nondescript, slightly shabby looking station. Sal jumped as Q moved for the first time in the entirety of the journey - he stood up and began to walk down the aisle to the door. Sal tried to get up, to follow, but his body suddenly felt so heavy, and he couldn’t lift himself from his seat. “Quinn, wait!” But Q kept on walking, almost out of sight now, and Sal began to cry, feeling desperate. A weighty feeling of dread settling in his gut told him that he was meant to be getting off here, and if he didn’t… then what? “Q? Bri, Brian, please, oh god, wait for me! _Bri_!”

The doors closed with a slam, and Sal woke up calling Q’s given name in between gasping sobs.

******

He didn't get any more sleep that night. There was no point - by the time his nightmare woke him up, the sky was already lightening, turning a cold, dull grey to match his mood. So he sat on his sofa in the dawn silence, fingers running absently back and forth over the black, slightly raised letters on his thigh. By this point in his life he was so familiar with the dream that it had become almost an old companion to him, a bitter, unwelcome visitor in his most vulnerable moments. Not much ever changed, in the two decades of this nightmare coming to him over and over again. Always he was on a train, always surrounded by his loved ones and their soulmates - when it first happened not even Joey had met Bessy yet, and yet there she was, sitting right beside him. And without fail, no matter what he said or did, Q always got up and got off at what was supposed to be their station, leaving Sal behind.

This was what Sal was dwelling on now. Why did Q disembark there, alone? It was a meaningful dream - the way he somehow always knew who his friends’ soulmates were years before they met them made that clear - so what did it mean for his best friend? Was he like Sal? Would he be on his own forever too? The thought hurt Sal to think about. Nobody deserved that kind of pain. On the other hand, what was the alternative? That Q found a soulmate of his own, leaving Sal to spend the rest of his life watching him be with another person? Sal didn't know if he could cope with that. A nauseating wave of jealousy surged through him, quickly followed by self loathing. _You’re a disgusting piece of shit for even thinking that, Vulcano._ If he was being honest with himself, he knew that he had to see his best friend happy, even if that meant seeing him with someone else.

Sighing, he got up and went to take a shower, steeling himself to face the day.

******

Eight that evening saw Sal sitting in a diner in the Bronx, waiting for the others to turn up. They’d already shot a challenge that morning, and were about to shoot another, a revival of their first season baseball chant challenge, at that night’s Yankees vs. Red Sox game. They’d agreed to meet at half past seven, and Sal was beginning to wonder if he’d got the right place, or even the right time. He looked at his phone to find a message from Q, which simply read _‘Running late, bud. Be ten minutes.’_ Sal read the message over and over, trying to discern any kind of emotion or intent behind it beyond what was plain to read, but the other guy was giving him nothing. Rubbing his hand over his face in frustration, he tried to put it to the back of his mind. He didn't want to be distracted for the shoot, because it tended to end in losses for him - and there was no way he was going down tonight.

Five minutes later, the three late Jokers walked in the door, chatting and laughing. Sal stood up and headed over to greet them, his gaze travelling to Q almost automatically, taking in the man’s expression and demeanour. When he’d first walked in, his expression had been open and amused, but as soon as he looked at Sal, his guard went up, his face wary and cautious. Sal was bewildered. Q didn't look angry at him so much as apprehensive, and he just couldn't fathom what he could have done to cause that reaction. _What the fuck is going on in your head, Quinn?_

“Hey. You guys took your time. What happened?” Sal decided to pretend like everything was normal… or whatever passed for normal in his weird life.

Murr spoke, sounding only slightly apologetic. “Sorry, man. We ended up having to go help the crew set up early, because of the game starting. You know how it is.”

“They’re all set up now,” Q said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You ready to go, bud?”

“Y-yeah.” Suddenly finding himself staring at the shadow of Q’s old self, peeping through the cracks in his facade like the sun shining through the clouds, Sal found it difficult to breathe. It had only been a couple of days, but he hadn't realised how much he missed the comfortable back-and-forth of their friendship, the ease with which they could read each other and laugh with each other, and just _be_ with each other. It was like there was suddenly a wall between them - and he had no idea how to get past it, because he didn't know what had put it there in the first place.

“Hey! Earth to Vulcano!” Joe waved a hand in front of Sal’s face, and he blushed, realising he’d zoned out. “Oh look, he’s back with us.”

Sal cleared his throat awkwardly, avoiding all eye contact. “Fuck. Sorry, I was miles away. Uhh, yeah. Let’s get goin’.”

They headed out, Sal determinedly evading Joe’s sharp, observant gaze as they went.

******

Sal ran through his line in his head a couple more times before the cameras went on. It wasn't like it was a difficult line to say, but he hated it when he fucked up. They were standing outside Yankee Stadium, just about to do their intro piece for the challenge.

He turned to the others. “We ready?” They were, and the cameras went on. Sal was first up. “Tonight we’re at Yankee Stadium, trying to start ridiculous baseball chants!”

There was an unusually long pause. Then his confusion turned to horror as the other three turned to him in unison, and as one, chorused “ _weeeelllllll…”._

“Ah, _shit_.” Sal should have realised what was going on as soon as the other three started making stupid weak excuses about being late.

Murr piped up. “That's right, Sal, you’re tonight’s big loser, which means you get to be punished!”

Sal groaned, already feeling the anxiety beginning to churn his stomach up unpleasantly, all nausea and tense knots and fear. “What have I gotta do?”

Q, who was standing next to Sal, put his arm round him and placed a hand on his shoulder, which had the bizarre effect of simultaneously grounding and calming Sal, and setting his nerves on fire - causing him to tingle where the other man was touching him. He spoke, pulling Sal close to his side. “Here’s the deal, buddy. You gotta go sit in the stands, among a big group of your fellow Yankees fans, and watch the game.”

“That’s not all, though?” Sal prepared himself for the rest.

Q’s hand tightened just fractionally around Sal’s shoulder as he replied, something Sal wouldn't even have noticed if he wasn't so attuned to his best friend. “Obviously not. When we say “now” you gotta cheer for the Sox!”

“ _What_? No way. Are you tryin’ to get me killed?” There was no way this could be real. Sal wondered if he was having a nightmare. But as the minutes passed, and they’d finished their intro segment, gone into the packed out stadium, and stood at the top of the stands, ready to begin, he had to concede that he was definitely awake, and this was becoming one of the shittiest weeks of his life.

He turned to the other three. Joe looked confident and complacent, as he always did on camera, Murr just looked plain gleeful, and Q… Q was hard to read. He wasn't looking at Sal, instead scoping out the crowd, and though there was a smile on his face, it seemed distracted and absent. Sal sighed. “I guess I’d better fuckin’ get this over with.”

“Good luck, bud! There’s an ambulance on call if ya need it!” Joe’s laughter followed him as he made his way down the stands and sat in the seat pointed out to him. He looked back, trying to control his breathing, and caught Q’s eye. He gave him a double thumbs up and mouthed “you got this, buddy!”, which reassured Sal in more ways than one. It always helped to have his best friend’s mute support in a punishment, because it helped to centre him and give him perspective when normally all rationality would be out of the goddamn window. At the same time, he was glad that their relationship wasn't so badly damaged that Q couldn't even bear to encourage him like he usually did. Maybe they could go back to normal after all.

He was jerked out of his reverie by Murray’s enthusiastic voice down his earpiece. “Okay Sal, you ready? Reach under the seat and put on what we left for you there.”

Sal reluctantly felt under his seat. He pulled out a plastic bag, inside of which were a Red Sox cap and scarf. He looked either side of him, sizing up his immediate threats. On his left was a tiny old hispanic lady who already seemed to be eyeing him suspiciously (and Sal had learned never to underestimate old women), and on his right was a muscled, tattooed guy who had to be at least a fucking foot taller than him. He covered his mouth. “Uhh… guys? I’m probably gonna die tonight, and I just wanna tell you that I _will_ come back and haunt the shit outta you all.”

The only response was laughter, which was what Sal was expecting, so he didn't bother saying anything else. Instead, glancing around him, he put on the scarf and hat. Nobody seemed to notice at first. Then:

“Young man, I think you’re with the wrong group.” the old woman tapped on Sal’s shoulder and, when he turned to look at her, glared at him. “You’re gonna get yourself beat up.”

“Say, ‘no, I’m definitely in the right place’.” Q interjected in his ear.

Sal sighed and repeated what the other man had told him to say. The old lady shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Cue more laughter down his ear from the three jerkasses.

******

The game was in full swing, and so far Sal had been told to yell for the other team six times. The first couple of times, not much had actually happened, beyond the odd reproachful glare from the old lady, and a few mutterings of _what is he doing?_ from around him. By the sixth time, however, in addition to the people around him - who were beginning to sound fucking _mutinous_ \- he had finally pissed off the big guy next to him, who had turned to him, irritation plain in his eyes, and said firmly, “pal, you’re gonna want to stop doin’ that.” Sal had stammered out an apology, feeling like the biggest jackass in the world, and the guy had turned his attention back to the game.

“Guys, can we stop now? _Please_?”

Murr’s cheerful sounding voice made itself heard. “No. Hey, guess what?”

“...What?” Sal knew what was coming, and still he let himself walk into it.

“ _Now_!” Three voices commanded in unison.

“Ahh, fuck...” Sal felt anxiety twist his stomach and chest into painful knots again. He closed his eyes, tried to focus on calming his breathing down, but all he could hear was the anger of the people around him, directed at him. As the seconds passed, and he sat, wavering on the edge of just saying _fuck it_ and going through with it, it felt like the crowd got louder and angrier, until it was all that he could hear. Then, just as he was resisting the impulse to get up and run, a voice, calm and even, cut through the noise.

“Hey, buddy, what’s it like down there? Talk us through it.”

Sal knew exactly what Q was doing - he’d been using this technique to talk him down since he could remember. “I don’t - everyone’s so fuckin’ _angry_ , man, I’m gonna get the shit kicked outta me-”

Q interrupted, sounding gentle and firm, and Sal found himself focusing on the calming tone without even meaning to. “Listen, Sally. Just this one more time and you can stop. Okay?”

“Promise?”

He thought he heard Murr make a noise of displeasure, and Joe make a shushing noise, in the background, before Q replied with “yeah, bud. I promise.”

Something in the way his best friend spoke - something tender and soft in the man’s tone - made Sal’s heart squeeze. He hoped it wasn’t showing on his face. “Okay.” Taking a deep breath, he shot up out of his seat, almost knocking the big guy’s drink over, and started waving his hands in the air. “Go Sox! Y-Yankees… Yankees suck!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, bracing himself to get hit by a bottle or a can. The crowd around him started booing and shouting at him, and within seconds he’d already found himself being called every bad name there was, with a few more creative ones thrown in there for good measure. Then, to Sal’s alarm, gameplay came to a total standstill down on the pitch, and the players looked up at him. He sat down quickly, but it was too late - the Yankees’ batter and two runners were already on their way up the stairs to his seat. When they reached him, he cleared his throat. “Uhh… hi?”

“Look man, ya can’t go round sittin' with Yankees fans and cheerin' for the Red Sox. Are you trying to cause a riot?” the batter said angrily.

“Oh, these - these are _Yankees_ fans? I thought they were _Sox_ fans! My bad...” Sal tried to keep a cool demeanour, but in the face of three angry major league baseball players, a stadium full of irate fans out for his blood, and three cackling assholes in his ear, that was hard.

One of the runners spoke up, his face stern. “We can’t resume play until you leave - you’re interfering with the game.”

Sal got up, prickling all over with embarrassment. The entire stadium was cheering as he walked up the stairs to the back of the stands, and as he reached the other three Jokers, his legs almost gave way underneath him. The cameras stopped rolling and Joe and Murr were still laughing their asses off, but Q had a gentle, cautious half-smile on his face instead. He placed his hand on Sal’s forearm. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah… yeah. I… God, don’t ever make me do that again. That was fucking scary, dude. I thought I was gonna die out there for sure.”  
“You were never in any kinda danger, Sal.” Joe stated, looking self-satisfied. “The whole damn stadium - and the players - knew about what you were gonna do before the game even started. They were in on it!”

Sal didn’t know whether to feel mad at the fact that he was terrified for nothing, or relieved that getting beaten up was never an outcome in the first place. The mixed feelings, coupled with his adrenaline suddenly running out on him, translated into exhausted dejection. “I’m… I’m really tired. I think I’m gonna go home.”

“I’ll drive you.” Q offered, concern in his eyes. “Joe brought us from the office anyway, so I don’t have a car.”

Sal was baffled. This coming from the guy who, for the last few days, had barely even looked in his direction? And now he was acting… well, almost the way he had been before all this stupid shit happened, all caring and thoughtful and just plain _Brian._ “Are you sure? You don’t wanna stay for the rest of the game?”

Q laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t’ve offered if I wasn’t, buddy.”

“Well... okay. Thanks.” They said goodbye to Murr and Joe, who were staying to watch the end of the game, then started walking towards the exit, Sal feeling confused and uncertain, and constantly, painfully aware of the warmth of his best friend beside him.

******

The drive home was quiet. Sal cast a few sidelong glances at his friend, and could see that he was struggling with something. As impatient as he was to understand what was wrong, though, he knew the other guy well enough to know that pushing him into opening up would only have the opposite effect.

Eventually, they pulled up outside Q’s house. Q turned to Sal. “You gonna be okay driving the rest of the way? You look fucking exhausted, man.”

Sal felt how he probably looked. “I’ll be fine, buddy, don't worry. I just need a good night’s sleep, okay?”

Whatever Q had been struggling with on the drive over seemed to surface again. Fiddling with his hands, he began to speak haltingly. “I-I… shit, I’m really fuckin’ sorry about the punishment. We had it planned for months but I wanted to change it because you weren't yourself lately and we couldn't-”

Sal interrupted Q’s rambling. “Hey. It’s fine, pal. I’m fine. What…?” He hesitated, wondering whether this counted as pushing Q into opening up, then decided to carry on. “What’s really goin’ on, bud? You haven't apologised to me for a punishment for years. And you - you’ve been so _weird_ with me lately.” He tried not to sound hurt when he said that last thing, he really did, but it came out sounding that way anyway.

The other man blew out a slightly shaky breath, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “D’you wanna come in?”

“Huh?”

“We gotta talk, Sally. I - I really gotta tell you somethin’.”

Sal’s mind immediately started screaming every single possible negative outcome at him. _He knows! He knows and he hates you!_ the loudest of the voices yelled. _He doesn't want to fucking know you any more, asshole!_ “Uh. Okay.” Was all he could manage aloud.

They headed inside and stepped into the kitchen.

“Coffee?” Q broke the slightly tense silence.

“Um, please.” Watching his best friend move around, making the drinks, made Sal recall a similar moment not so long ago, where everything had been so much easier between them. Now it felt about as easy as breathing fucking mud.

He was snapped out of his brooding by a cup being pushed gently into his hands, and the smell of coffee and vanilla pervading his senses. Looking up, he watched Q step away from him to lean on the counter, regarding him with a neutral expression. His eyes gave him away, though: he was sad about something. Sal took a sip of his coffee and sighed, letting it warm him through and relax him slightly before he posed the question that could change everything, and likely not for the better. “So… what’s on your mind, buddy?”

“Uhh…” Q bit his lip, looking suddenly a little lost for words. “I, uh… do you - look, there’s somethin’ we’ve never talked about, and I figure now is a good time to ask. I… what’re your words?”

Sal’s heart dropped down to his knees. Fuck, so he really did know. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and forced out “why - why do you wanna know?”

“I just… You’re my best friend. It’s stuff best friends normally tell each other.” Q shrugged and looked away, his hand automatically moving to rub his nose.

Sal knew the other guy was lying, he just had no idea why. He set down his coffee and folded his arms. “Why now? Why not ten years ago or ten years from now?”

There was a loaded pause, and Q sighed. “Why _not_ now? I never asked before ‘cause you never told, just like you never asked me about mine. And now… I wanna know.”

“I… well, if you’re that desperate to know, then fine.” Heart pounding and breath coming short, he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants - aware of how bizarre the whole fucking thing was, just doing it right there in the kitchen - and pulled up the edge of his boxers to reveal the words on his thigh.

What followed was the longest, most fraught silence that Sal had ever experienced. He’d never felt so vulnerable, or so fragile as he did in those moments. He felt as though he was made out of glass, like he’d been pushed off the edge of a surface by a petulant kid, and he would land and shatter into a million irreparable pieces at any moment. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer, and dared to look at Q. “Well? Aren't you gonna say something?”

It came out more snappish than he intended, but his panicky irritation turned quickly to confusion when he saw the other man’s expression. Q had a weird mixture of sadness, wonder and relief written across his face, and as his eyes travelled from the words on Sal’s thigh to meet his gaze, he shook his head. “You knew… all this time, you knew and I - my _god,_ I had no idea.” His voice came out in a choked whisper.

“What? I don't…”

“Hold on. I need to get somethin’.” Q whirled out of the room, leaving Sal to buckle his pants back up and wonder what the fuck was going on. He’d expected anger, disgust, even perhaps no reaction at all - after all, who would expect anyone to remember a throwaway question about borrowing a goddamn pencil from two decades ago? But this was… he didn't know _what_ to expect. The uncertainty twisted his stomach into knots.

After a while, he couldn't wait in the kitchen any more, and made his way to Q’s bedroom. “What’re you…?”

He trailed off, surveying all the boxes of various sizes that his friend had evidently pulled out from under his bed. Q, who had been bent over a shoebox on his bed, straightened up. “Look.” He walked over and deposited something in Sal’s hand.

Sal looked and his jaw dropped. Resting on his palm was an old, faded yellow pencil, paint peeling and half as long as it used to be. It could have been any pencil - standard HB yellow with a pink eraser tip, they weren't exactly uncommon - but somehow, he didn't think it _was_ just any pencil. He looked back at the other man, tears feeling imminent for what felt like the hundredth time in four days. His voice came out broken and small. “You… kept this?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? You didn't react, I’m not your… so… _why_?” He finished lamely.

Q sat down on his bed, gesturing for Sal to join him, which he did, picking his way across the room through the boxes. When they were both sitting down, Sal grasping the pencil like it was breakable and priceless, the other man spoke, his voice soft and his gaze far away. “You were the first person to even _look_ at me at that fucking school. I walked in the room that day, expectin’ to be totally invisible, and the first thing I noticed was you, lookin’ at me like I fucking hung the moon.” He let out a short, incredulous laugh, and turned his gaze on Sal. For a moment, Sal could see that boy again - all serious eyes and dark hair and round face. Then a wry half smile crossed his face and he carried on, not breaking eye contact. “I didn't forget my goddamn pencil case, Sal. I wanted an excuse to talk to you, ‘cause outside my family, nobody had ever looked at me like I was worth a damn before. So yeah. I kept the pencil. Because it symbolises the first good thing I experienced in high school. It reminds me of a sweet, funny kid who, a few years down the line, I…" he took a deep breath, "...I realised I was in love with.”

“Love?” Sal’s mind had gone totally blank. He struggled to believe what the other man was saying. “But you-”

“Didn't feel it when we met, I know,” Q finished gently. “But I still fell in love with you. Buddy… there’s a reason I never told you about my words either.” He stood up, unbuttoning his jeans. “Before I show you, promise me you won’t laugh.”

Sal was confused. What could be laughable about this? “I promise.”

“Okay.” He pulled his jeans down and exposed his words - which were in the exact same place as Sal’s. “You see why I don’t talk about this?”

“Wait. That…” Realisation dawned on Sal. Etched into Q’s thigh was the long string of expletives that he’d yelled when he’d stubbed his toe on the coffee table just a handful of days before. “Holy _shit_.”

Q pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, it fuckin’ sucks.”

“No, it-it’s not that.” Sal felt something begin to stir inside him, a mix of excitement and hope and disbelief. “Those - I shouted that the other day. Is… is this why you’ve been actin’ all weird with me? You felt it?”

Sitting down again, Q sighed. “I always thought it was some cosmic fuckin’ joke played on me. My parents told me to keep it hidden, anyone I brought home laughed at it. So when I finally heard it, from _you_ of all people… I was scared, Sal. I didn't believe it was real.”

“But it is. It _is_ real.” And with that statement - a reassurance to himself as much as to his best friend - the sheer truth of it hit Sal like a smack in the face. All at once it came to him that _he_ was Q’s soulmate, that he might be able to feel whole for the first time in his life, and he laughed, then drew in a long, shuddering breath, tears of joy mixed with a little sadness running down his face.

Q pulled him into his arms, burying his face in the top of Sal’s head. His voice came muffled and thick, his breathing slightly hitched. “I know. I know it is. Oh god, the years we lost. I'm so _sorry_ …”

Sal breathed in the other man’s scent, and felt any sadness at lost time ebb away. They had _now_ , and god knew they’d been waiting long enough for it. He pulled away to look at Q, suddenly unable to keep a smile off his face. “Forget about that, it wasn't anyone’s fault. We got more than enough time to make up for it, okay? No use worryin’ about the past when we got all we need right here.”

Q flashed him an answering smile, all warm, tender, and happy, before reaching across to cup his cheek. “You’re right,” he murmured softly, his thumb swiping gently across Sal’s cheekbone. “We found each other, and no matter how long that took, it happened. And... I couldn’t be fucking happier about it.” They fell silent for a few moments, just staring at each other. The air around them felt heavy with anticipation. Then - cautiously, as though afraid he might scare Sal away - he leaned in, closing his eyes. Sal gladly closed the distance between them, hand moving to cover the other man’s on the bed.

Their lips met, and it was like long-anticipated rain at the end of a lengthy drought. At first it was all lingering, unhurried kisses, gentle and slow. Sal felt everything he’d felt the first time he heard his words come out of his soulmate’s mouth - elated and giddy with love and excitement and joy. This time, though, it wasn’t followed up by a crushing sense of loss. He’d imagined this thousands of times, a thousand different ways, and nothing he ever came up with in his fantasies was ever anything like this. Q was warm and alive and _real,_ for one thing. How could he mistake it for a dream, when he could smell and touch and _taste_ the other man? ...And god, was that thought fucking hot. He suddenly needed more, a lot more. He wanted to get goddamn drunk on this guy, and never be sober again. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, and felt gratified and really fucking turned on when Q let out a low, muted sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, one hand moving to wrap around Sal’s waist and the other cupping the back of his neck. After a few moments, Q broke the kiss, reaching behind him to push all of the old boxes he’d found off his bed.

“Wait - Q, your stuff…” Sal faltered as everything hit the floor.

Q’s eyes were even darker than usual as he looked up. “Fuck my stuff. We need my bed now.” Then they were kissing again, hard and passionate, hands all over each other, only breaking apart to discard most of their clothes and manoeuvre themselves to the top of the bed.

Sal’s head hit the pillows, and he gazed up at his best friend, who had moved to straddle him. “God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he breathed. And he _was_ gorgeous. His face was flushed, eyes full with love and lust, and there was an affectionate smile gracing his lips. Sal realised at that moment that even without the marks that bound them together, he could never have fallen in love with anybody else. Reaching up, he stroked Q’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sally.” Q leaned down to kiss him, and at the same time, rolled his hips slowly, creating a delicious friction between them.

Sal moaned - he was almost painfully hard now, and judging by the way the other guy felt against him, so was he. He thrust upwards, trying to get more contact, and Q buried his face in Sal’s neck and groaned.

“Fuck, Sal, this isn't gonna take long if you keep doin’ that.” He sounded strained. “I wanna make this _last_ , buddy.”

Sal fell still, unable to keep from feeling a little smug at the effect he was having on Q. That feeling rapidly changed to confusion, then shocked pleasure, when his friend shifted, moving down Sal’s body and kissing a wet trail as he went. Then he deftly freed Sal’s cock from his boxers and licked from the base to the tip, before taking it into his mouth. Sal cried out. “Oh my _god!_ ”

Q simply hummed a little laugh, which sent vibrations of pleasure into the pit of Sal’s stomach, and started moving his head. Involuntarily, Sal’s hips bucked, his hands moving to tangle in Q’s hair, and the other man responded by placing a firm hand on each thigh and holding him still.

For a while there was silence except for Sal’s gasping moans, and some of the most _obscenely_ arousing sucking sounds he had ever heard - and he’d been on the receiving end of a few blowjobs in his time. It didn't take long before he was on the edge, tensing up and shuddering - and Q must have felt it coming, because he detached himself quickly and sat up. Sal felt his orgasm subsiding, and still achingly hard, he blew out a frustrated breath.

“What did I say? This is our first time, bud. I told you I want it to last.” Q’s tone was fond and a little teasing as he moved back up to kiss Sal again. Then he mumbled into his mouth. “Lube?”

“Side table drawer.” As the other guy reached for the little bottle, Sal felt a thrill of anticipation at what was about to happen. He’d done this before a few times, but there'd always been something missing. He’d heard that with a soulmate, it transcended description.

Q, having retrieved the lube, was now toying with the edges of Sal’s boxers, tugging at them slightly. He suddenly looked a little uncertain. “Uhh… are you sure you wanna do this now? If you wanna wait and take it slow, that’s fine…”

Sal laughed. “Bri, I’ve waited _twenty six_ years for this. For you. D’you think I’d wait a moment fuckin’ longer?”

“Thank god,” Q breathed. He disposed of their underwear, and coated his fingers in lube. Then, dropping messy kisses on Sal’s lips, jawline and neck, he slowly prepared him. If he was surprised at how little discomfort it caused Sal, he didn't show it - and Sal didn't ask why his friend seemed so experienced at it. They both had history, it appeared.

Sal’s train of thought was broken suddenly by Q crooking his fingers slightly inside of him - _just_ right - pulling a moan from him. “ _God_... that feels…” he trailed off, clutching at the sheets as the other man applied a little more pressure.

“I know, honey,” Q murmured, leaning over Sal to plant long, lingering kisses on his stomach, “that’s why I’m doin’ it.”

“I… I need…” under Q’s ministrations, Sal was finding it difficult to think, to verbalise anything. Fuck, he was even finding it difficult to move. He’d never felt so wanted, so _loved_ , and it was almost too much.

Q continued kissing him wherever he could reach, and made little stroking movements with his fingers, drawing out another gasping moan. “Tell me, Sally.”

Sal let out a noise that fell somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You. I  - ah, fuck, _there -_ need you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Oh god, _please_.” Sal was well aware that he was now begging, but he was long past caring. He wanted Q in every way it was possible to have him, wanted to know what it was to finally be complete. And the best part of this night was the knowledge that his best friend - his soulmate - felt exactly the same.

Without any preamble, Q withdrew his fingers, leaving Sal feeling oddly empty for a moment, and slicked his cock up with more lube. Sal sat up, moving to position himself with his legs wrapped around the other man’s waist. Then, as they swapped deep, passionate kisses, Sal pushed down slowly onto Q’s dick, hands braced on the man’s strong shoulders. Q gave a low moan and moved to grip Sal’s ass. “Fuck. So fuckin’ _tight._ ”

They began to move as one, setting a pace of long, slow strokes. For a long time, all that could be heard was Q’s grunts and Sal’s own breathy moans, filling the air around them with sounds of pleasure. Then all at once, the pace sped up, rhythm becoming shorter and faster, and Sal groaned, feeling his orgasm start to build up inside him again, that heady pressure building up in his spine and his groin. “Don’t - don’t stop…” he choked, his forehead against Q’s.

“Not gonna," Q groaned. "I've got you, baby.” He reached between them to grasp Sal’s cock, and in time to their thrusts - hard and deliberate now - started jerking him off. Sal was _so_ close. He gazed through half-closed eyes at the other man, whose eyes were focused fully on his face, seeming to take in every single detail.

Then, never breaking eye contact, Q whispered, “come for me, Sal.”

Those few words were the tipping point for Sal, and less than a second later his orgasm overwhelmed him, came crashing over him like a tidal wave. His vision whited out, and on some level he was dimly aware of Q coming, choking out a tangle of expletives and words of adoration, of his own incoherent sobbing moans and the tears on his cheeks, and of them both clinging to each other as though caught in a hurricane.

Together they rode out the aftershocks, and then crawled into bed, facing each other. Q spoke, sounding hoarse and spent, and looking a little awed. “I never thought it’d be like that.”

“Like what?” Sal’s head still felt a little foggy, and he was suddenly exhausted.

“So… so _intense._ I never thought I’d _feel_ …” Q shook his head slightly, looking a little lost for words.

Sal understood. “Neither did I, bud. But it happened, and... god, it was beyond anything I ever imagined.”

Q smiled drowsily, lifting a hand to wipe away the residue of tears from Sal’s cheek. “I’m so fuckin' glad I found you."

“Me too, Bri.” As exhaustion finally caught up with Sal, and he drifted off to sleep, he felt a warm hand creep into his and a soft voice murmur ‘I love you’ in his ear. His last thought was the knowledge that he wouldn’t be alone in the morning.

*****

He wasn’t sure how or when he’d arrived there, but Sal was on the train again. He looked around him, taking in the familiar sight of his friends and family and their soulmates, the sound of their joy and the sight of their pure golden cores warming his heart. He looked next to him, to see that his best friend was sitting there. Q was an adult, no longer the boy he had been, and when Sal looked at his reflection in the dark window, he saw himself as he really was - older, and a little less lost. He glanced back to see that the other man was staring at him, a slight smile on his face.

Q reached for his hand, entwining their fingers. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Sal couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “So here we are.”

Q laughed and kissed Sal. “I guess so.”

After that, they passed the journey talking and laughing. The topics of conversation were banal, lighthearted, and full of effusive joy. Meanwhile, one by one, the other couples disembarked at their stations, until eventually, they reached the final station. Q stood up, and Sal felt a little uncertain, until the other man reached a hand out, his eyes soft and smile gentle. “This is us. You comin’, buddy?”

Sal felt tears come to his eyes. All these years and he would finally be allowed to reach the end of this journey with his soulmate. He would finally be truly complete. He stood up, following Q, and as the train came to a stop, the doors opening, they joined hands.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

They stepped off the train into golden sunlight.

 


End file.
